Forgotten Pasts
by emii sakano
Summary: All of the Weasleys are loud, rambunctious, and funloving, except for one. Prissy Percy. But he wasn't always like that. This story delves into the past of a young seer and shows us that not everything is as it seems. complete
1. Chapter One

**Forgotten Pasts**  
_by: sl-sama_

_"Mummy?" The boy- he couldn't be anymore than six- asked, eyes bright as he looked at his mother over the head of the sleeping twin he was carrying, "What are we doing? Are we playing a game?"_

_Molly Weasley looked down at her son fondly, even as she ushered him into the closet. Placing the twins on the small bed in the smaller room, she turned to her other son._

_"Yes, Percy, we're playing a game. You've played it before, but I'll tell you the rules again anyway."_

_The boy, Percy's, eyes lit up at the words. Hushing him before he could say anything, Molly Weasley smiled again, eyes brimming with tears._

_"In this game, you have to be very quiet- keep the twins quiet too-, and stay here with them until either Mommy, Daddy, Bill, or Ms. Lily get here, no matter what happens. OK?"_

_"But mummy," The boy protested weakly, eyes dimming as he remembered the last time they had 'played' this 'game.' "What do we do if no one gets here in time for breakfast."_

_Molly smiled gently, trying to keep her fear of that possibility out of her eyes as she led Percy to a closet within the little closet that they were already in. Opening it, she turned to him._

_"One can and two bottles of water each a day Percy. You know the spells-"_

_"Mommy?" The boy interrupted uncharacteristically as he seemed to realise something._

_"Where's Ron?"_

_Molly could not help her fond smile when she heard the worry in his voice. "Daddy brought him to visit Ms. Minerva, Charlie and Bill today, remember?"_

_"Oh."_

_The boy looked as though he should like to like say more when his eyes grew vacant and lifeless. Molly panicked, ready to succumb to the instinct to shake him when he came back to himself. Tight lipped, and unlike the little boy that she raised and knew, he turned to her._

_"They're here."_

_The loud creaking of a door opening reverberated through the house. Molly stood up as Percy shut his mouth._

_Just before she left, he held her hand and smiled._

_"You'll be okay. They," he gestured to the twins. "will be ok to, I promise."_

_Molly's fears abated when he said this; despite the odds, his surety of what he said mollified her in the subtle manner that would later make so many adore the boy._

_"I love you, mum."_

_It was only after that she realised he had never said that he would be ok._

_-+- _

Molly Weasley awoke with a gasp, muted horror in her eyes as the memory of that night crashed through her once more. Instinctively, she turned her eyes to the "clock" which she and Arthur had gotten commissioned early in the first war.

Five hands were centered on 'dreamless sleep.'

Two on 'work.'  
One on 'infirmary.'  
Two on 'in hiding.'  
One on 'the burrow.'  
And two on 'nightmares.'

It was no surprise to see those two centered on nightmares, but then one of the hands slowly started swinging. In morbid fascination, she watched it until it stopped.

'Seer's trance.'

Then just as slowly, it turned back to 'the burrow.'

Tears seeped out of her eyes as she heard the anguished sobs that even silencing wards could not keep out.

"Oh Percy..."

t.b.c.

_Yep; that was weird._

_Right-- and I own not Harry Potter._


	2. Chapter Two

**Forgotten Pasts**

_Hazel eyes peered worriedly through a tiny peephole, cleverly hidden by a piece of stretched stocking painted the same color as the wall outside. Behind him one of the three year olds stirred, and he- quickly and noiselessly- slipped onto the bed and gathered George in his arms._

_"Per'y?"_

_The six year old smiled and hugged his younger brother._

_"Hey George."_

_"Where Mu'y?"_

_Trying not to laugh at the younger twin's slightly broken speech, the hazle eyed boy smiled down at him._

_"Mama's getting food."_

_"Oh."_

_Another voice-though most couldn't tell the difference, Percy could-broke in._

_"Did you tell Mum'y to be careful?"_

_"Of course I did," Noticing the two try to hold back yawns, he admonished them quietly. "Now go back to sleep, y'hear?"_

_"Yesh Per'y!" The two chimed in unison before slipping back into bed, arms slipping around each other as Fred pulled his brother closer in an unconcious gesture of comfort, revealing to Percy's knowing gaze that they were both clearly worried; though they did not know the full extent of the danger, they knew that there was danger, and they needed someone to help them deal with the fear._

_They needed each other, and Percy smiled. He always knew that the two were special- they completed each other after all._

_Then a loud crash brought his attention back to the peep hole. Now that they were asleep again, the twins would be okay; they could sleep through anything, after all._

_"Where is he!" Black robes and white masks. Percy winced, Deatheaters. His parents didn't want him to know, but you can't hide things from an Oracle._

_The man was pushed away and hushed as another took his place._

_"All we want is the boy, we'll leave you and everyone here alone if we have him. There would no need for," there was a slight hint of resignation in the man's voice; he obviously knew that there was no chance of Molly acquiescing to his offer. "unnecessary bloodshed."_

_Despite the youth in his voice, it was obvious that this man was the leader. And Percy knew who he was- of course he knew._

_Simeon Lestrange, a Ravenclaw barely three years out of Hogwarts, Director of Security at the Ministry-the deatheaters' only truly successful spy in the Ministrial ranks- was the Seeker of his House Team until Sixth or Seventh year, when he quit the quidditch team in favor for studying for the NEWTs, and one of Riddle's Inner circle._

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, you couldn't hide things from an Oracle, remember?_

_Plus, Voldemort just sounded ridiculous._

_A sudden scream brought Percy's attention back to his mother._

_His mother- Molly Anne Figg-Weasley. Despite the fact that she had had six children, and had a seventh on the way-though he wouldn't tell her that-, she was still beautiful. She recovered well despite all of her pregnancies, and was almost as slim as she was the day she married Arthur, though everyone in the family agreed that it didn't matter at all._

_In fact, they agreed, it would be better if she gained a little weight- that way random men would stop hitting on her whenever it was safe enough to go to a park (with several off duty aurors with them of course)._

_But currently, it was working against her. A death eater- 'Crabbe' a part of his mind spat venomously- had used his wand to tear of her clothes._

_As the realization that his vision, despite how inaccurate his precognative abilities usually were, ran the chance of becoming reality, Percy did the only thing he could do to save his mother the indignity that Simeon's underling was was threatening._

_Turn himself in._

_-+- _

"BLOODY HELL! FRED/GEORGE! WHAT DID YOU DO!"

"_BOYS!_ Watch your language!"

William Gale Weasley, better known as Bill, high-fived his younger brother at the sounds of identical-voices screaming at each other, then at the sound of a creak, they turned their heads to survey their handiwork.

They were unpleasantly surprised to see a tired Percy stumbled into the kitchen. Sans glasses, the dark circles under their younger brother's eyes were glaringly obvious, and highlight changes that anyone had yet to realize. Percy had lost weight, his face was gaunt, and exhaustion seemed to pour off of his body in endless waves.

Charles Keene Weasley, Charlie for short, shared a shocked stare with his older brother before turning his attention back to the boy-teen-man in front of him. Oblivious, Percy poored himself a cup of black coffee, downed it quickly, then poured himself a second cup and essentially collapsed at the table.

"Percy?" Bill asked cautiously.

"Are you alright?" Charlie continued.

His younger brother turned cloudy hazle eyes to him.

"Kee? Glae?"

Charlie and Bill recoiled in shock-Percy hadn't called them that in years.

Then, as if he had realized what he just said as well, Percy snapped awake.

"Bill, Charlie." He greeted sharply as he sipped his-black, Charlie noted in disgust-coffee.

"Good Morning," He continued before standing and placing his now empty mug in the sink. "And good day."

"'Taus..."

Percy froze in the doorway at the unexpected use of his childhood nickname. When the three who could actually talk called each other by their middle names, because it was an 'bigger brothers only'-thing; just before Percy had to learn that books could be as amusing as the two brothers who had disappeared to that institution of education somewhere in Scotland; when all had been right in the world, or close to it.

Before...

"'Taus, are you OK?"

Choking, Percy forced the words out, making himself as haughty as possible, trying not to show the pain that his brothers were not aware of.

"I'm fine Charlie, just a few b-bad dreams."

With that, Percival Augustus Weasley turned his back on his brothers and walked up the stairs to his rooms, seemingly unaware of the worried glances two concerned older brothers shared as he kept a hand on the wall to guide his way upstairs.


	3. Chapter Three

This ficlet's also going into the 'slightly au, erm, make that au' category. Sorry, I guess.

**Forgotten Pasts**  
by: sl-sama

_A little boy shivered and pulled his blanket around him; the winters of northern Europe were harsh, and despite the warm fire in the grate before him, which was far more than what any other prisoner had been given, the draft still sent chills up his spine._

_A light rattle alerted him to the opening door and he stood to greet his visitor. As he stood, a light film glazed his eyes, then left, leaving him slightly unbalanced as the door opened. He pulled himself together and by the time the man was standing in front of him, Percival Augustus Weasley was standing proudly, or at least leaning against the wall in a manner that made him look like he was standing._

_"Percival."_

_"Tomas." He replied calmly, hazel eyes clear as he looked up at the most feared Dark Lord of the era._

_Voldemort gritted his teeth for a split second, before letting out a low chuckle._

_"I guess the rumours about your 'abilities' are true." Then he gestured to the tea set that had appeared before them, neither acting surprised when the formerly dark and miserable cell suddenly rearranged itself to become a tearoom befitting of royalty._

_"Tea?" The boy nodded his assent mutely as he took a chair to the man's opposite, the bright flames of the fire casting his features into shadow. The man poured the tea and the two sipped at their cups in silence, unheeding to the tension that was slowly filling the room. This was all part of the game, they both knew, and the first to speak would lose the advantage. It took at least five minutes--more than enough time for both to finish their first cup and consume one snack--but finally, Tom set his cup down and spoke._

_"Percival."_

_This man, this beautiful, charismatic man, said kindly._

_"My little clairvoyant, I can give you anything you want, books, toys. An education to rival that of Hogwarts, allow you to see your family again."_

_"Going straight to the point, aren't you Tom? Where's the long drawn out conversation where you attempt to make me listen, and sympathize with your views?"_

_"You know the answer to that as well as I do Percival-it would be useless. You know all and see all with a child's objectivity."_

_"Should I be flattered or insulted by that?"_

_Percy poured himself a second cup of tea, adding sugar and cream in borderline-disgusting quantities while hiding his amusement._

_"Are you're offers all so trivial, or is there anything more you would use to coerce me to your 'side'?"_

_"Well," Tom answered as he inspected the snack tray before him. "I could always allow you to see your father daily; from what Lestrange has observed, it would do you and the man some good."_

_Something in the boy's eyes died when Voldemort-Tom-said that, causing him to look vulnerable--the first time such a weakness had surfaced since the had been brought to the castle. Then it was covered and hidden, almost before Tom had seen it._

_"You know as well as I do that my father only sees in black and white, not the shades of grey that cover everything."_

_"Really, now, Percy?"_

_"He does not believe that you could still turn-"_

_"Turn? I am turned."_

_The boy continued as if he hadn't been interrupted._

_"Back to the, figurative, light side." The boy paused, then smiled wryly. "What a load of nonsense, dark arts, white magic. Light and Dark are no more representative of "good" and "evil" than the colours of white and black. They just are, and have been since the beginning of time. But I digress. As I was saying, my father does not understand that you could still turn to the figurative side of 'good'. Of course if you did so, it would probably mean that you would be allowing a man who is as destructive as the current you. My father does not understand any of this."_

_Intrigued at the odd statement, Tom leaned forward; curiosity piqued and prodded the child gently with his feelings, eyes, and body language to continue._

_"He does not believe that you are only human. He does not want to believe that some of the darkest lords have been Gryffindors, or that a Slytherin is currently the strongest of the light._

_"He would not even believe that you turned for love."_

_At the boy's last statement, blue eyes met clouded hazel, and images flew into Tom's mind. Images of a life he had had once--a life that he had been forced to abandon--and it was almost enough to break him._

_With a start, Tom once again retreated behind Voldemort as he sneered at the boy, trying to hide himself once again._

_"Are you so sure that you are a Gryffindor with their narrow-minded focuses? You are not a Hufflepuff to stick to tradition, or even a Ravenclaw; you couldn't spend your entire life devoted to your studies. In you, my boy, I see as a Slytherin: manipulative and cunning. What would your family say to that? What would you're father say to that?"_

_The boy's hazel eyes dimmed under the onslaught and watched thoughtfully as the broken man elegantly stalked out of the room._

-+-

"..Yuutsu no borode odoru. Jiyuu to uso ni tsuda nukare. Moroku maichiru puzzle kono shihai kara tobitate."

The redhead sang the Japanese lyrics softly as he listened to the home burned c.d. in the magically enhanced Walkman. Lowering his voice until he was simply humming the melody, he weaved his way through passages he had traversed for years until he reached a secluded entrance in a virtually unknown passage way.

A shadow fell over him, and, he immediate directed a calculating gaze to the sky, wand in hand. He wasn't paranoid, just cautious, but upon seeing the firebird above him, he let loose a genuine smile and lifted his arm for the bird to alight upon. As soon as it finished his descent, he slipped his wand back into the trigger holster on his left wrist and stroked the golden bird's plumage, smiling down at it as it let loose a melodious trill.

"Hey Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled, then tilted its head to glance at someone behind him.

Percival Weasley smiled at it, and stroked its plumage a few more times, before releasing it to soar once again through a window into the main building. Then he turned, and raised an eyebrow when he saw his older brother, Charlie, gaping at him. Then he blinked and smiled.

"G'evening Kee."

"'Evening 'Taus." Charlie replied automatically his face still, to Percy's amusement, frozen in an expression of disbelief. A plus, considering that he didn't particularly want his slip up to be remembered.

After all, not only had he ostracized himself from his family, but he hadn't addressed his older brother in such a manner Charlie 'Kee' for at least a decade by now, and it really wouldn't do to break the trend. Finding humour in his slightly bitter thoughts, he allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips as he walked into the meeting room. Settling into his customary seat, he trusted that his glamour would shield his identity from the other people in the room. Singing along with the still playing song, he subtly glanced around the room as he picked up a book on the table beside him.

"..Shining make you cry. Kiss shining hitomi ni kuchizukete, toke dasu hanabira mo jama ni naru, kill me shining..."

Idly, or at least it would have been idly if there was such a thing in these times, he wondered why his brother's teams were present, before narrowing his eyes when he saw his father mingling with people from different teams near the fireplace.

Then he looked up, waiting patiently for the headmaster to arrive, unsurprised when he saw his mother talking animatedly with him. Slipping an earphone from one ear, and slipping the Discman into his pocket, he slid up to them, and joined the conversation effortlessly. Then he asked the question that had been eating away at him.

"Albus, why exactly have you called team Elite here?"

The question was asked in so mild a manner that, even if Molly Weasley had not been so surprised to see her son to register his words, she might not have noticed the question. As it was, she was completely baffled both by his presence, and his appearance.

Her son, the pristine 'all wizard and proud of it!' son was dressed in muggle material black pants, that Arthur called "dungim," and a large black jacket made of some odd black material with what looked like metal teeth on the edges-where were the buttons? He was also wearing an odd black muggle shirt.

The shirt had a picture of a blond man in a muggle suit, tie, hat and suspenders, his black jacket falling off, a lavender(!) haired girl wearing a short black top that ended several inches above her pleated mini skirt (shameful!) and thigh-high black leather boots, and a brunette man with an open vest, red bandana around his throat, and dear god were those dragon-hide pants? Behind these drawn people were the words 'Nittle Grasper' in large white letters.

Not only this, but he had something in his ear! It certainly wasn't an earring, what was it then?

"And why exactly was I not informed?"

Molly almost began hyperventilating as her mind caught up to the conversation, not only was her baby, the one that they commonly viewed as a traitor, here, but he was also wearing odd clothing that he should not be wearing, with odd things in his ear, and he was also connected to the legendary team Elite!

"Because Percy, no one here knows of you're true importance to our cause."

By this time, the expression on Molly Weasley's face as several things—the fact that Percy was there, his new manner of dress, and the conversation she was hearing—fully sunk in could be described as comedic. Not, of course, that either man paid her notice, wrapped up in a conversation that they—intentionally—allowed her to assimilate. However, there was no denying the resignation in Percy's tone when he gave Dumbledore his reply.

"My father may seem quite accepting of muggles, but he doesn't easily accept things outside his frame of reference. He may never fully accept them, especially with the information we've been feeding him—12 Grimmauld Place is all he can take in right now.

"He's barely allowed himself to trust Sirius, Severus he still believes to be worse than scum, and I've already ostracized myself. He won't understand that it is possible to manipulate what people see in ways to benefit ourselves, and our personal causes. Not to mention, he still sees in terms of black and white, stereotypical Gryffindor."

Then Percival made his way back to his seat. Forcing herself out of her shock, Molly turned to Dumbledore questioningly. Typically, her former professor just smiled benignly at her before opening the meeting.

He had not even opened his mouth to begin speaking when the door to their room, also known as the "temporary, though actual Order of the Phoenix Headquarters", slammed open, and Remus Lupin ran in, covered in blood, gore, and dirt, as he clutched at his side and generally looked unwell.

Ignoring the shocked people in the room, Remus quickly sought and gained complete eye contact with Percy. With a gasp, the younger man was suddenly running out of the room, followed closely by the other members at a sharp signal from Dumbledore. Only a mediwitch remained to tend to the unconscious form of Remus Lupin.

The doors slammed open just as the large group arrived at the Great Hall and most were shocked to see a pale, blood-covered Lucius Malfoy stumbled in wearily, supporting a heavily injured Severus Snape.

"Malfoy!"

Ignoring his father's venomous exclamation and the drawn wands around him, Percy rushed forward to the other people on his team, taking Severus' weight from the blond and lifting him onto a table.

"Poppy, 'Bella!" He called frantically, allowing his glamour to slip as he cast a quick diagnosis charm on his ex-professor, wincing as he received the results.

The mediwitch and the empath rushed forward, rolling their sleeves up and un-pocketing balms, bandages and wands. Shooting a worried eye at the people slowly regaining their wits around them, Percy shot a terse question at the blond beside him.

"Bloody hell, Siri, when did you take that last dose?"

"It should be wearing off soon."

Percy nodded before turning back toward his ex-Professor.

"Wotcher, that looks painful. Need any help, Perce?"

"Tonks." He nodded to her and shoved a sterilized needle into her hands, motioning to a particularly nasty gash in their spy's side. "I know it's nasty, but it's to risky to spell him."

"No problem, four eyes." Despite her teasing tone, Tonks' hands shook with barely discernable tremors. But, under Pomfrey's guidance, and Arabella's instructions, she began closing the wound. Together the four slowly began patching the man up, as Percy shot questions at the last of their party: one Mundungus Fletcher.

Unfortunately they were interrupted by a sudden foray of curses aimed at Sirius, the prone man he was hovering over and, unluckily, the five 'innocent' persons near them. Fortunately, in a show of reflexes, agility, magic, and physical strength that astounded the firers of said curses, all the curses were either deflected, dodged or absorbed.

Percy had dodged three curses with a rather spectacular back handspring, immediately trapping four others with some sort of muggle contraption that he had procured as soon as he regained his feet.

Arabella had cartwheeled out of the way, landing squarely on her feet, and carefully dodging the rest of the shots. Fletcher stood beside her, his relatively young age suddenly apparent as he lost concentration on his glamour and his visage went from short, stout, and scraggly-the typical crook- to something completely different.

The man's stringy hair became a fetching dark chestnut brown, and he 'grew' back into his true height of around 6"1, with a lean and athletically built body-oddly remniscent of Johnny Depp, a muggle celebrity. He covered for Arabella as she ducked and weaved through the curses until she was close enough for him to shield them both.

The final member, Sirius Black, had quickly created a self-sufficient shield over himself, Poppy, an obviously annoyed Tonks and the unconscious Potions master. To Percy, the fact the shield simply absorbed, neutralized, then incorporated the magic from every spell that hit it was somehow hillarious.

Then Headmaster Dumbledore reappeared with a raven-haired teen in tow.

"Bloody hell, Gus why didn't you tie you're glamour into you're clothes like you did with mine!"

Chuckling at Arabella's comment, and surveying the battle ready positions of his team Elite, minus the junior member beside him. (Much to both Percival and Sirius' pride, the teen was already analysing the positions of every person within the room.) Taking in the universally confounded look on a little over a dozen and a half Order members who had drawn and fired their wands, Dumbledore shock his head sadly—though his "disappointment" was belied by the slight twinkle in his periwinkle eyes.

"Arthur, I had hoped that you would know better."

The man who had 'organized' the 'attack' cringed slightly at the light chastisement, before regaining himself and almost shouting at the aged warlock.

"But, sir, we thought it was Malfoy!"

"Father, that is no excuse!"

The reproachful tone caused Arthur Weasley to turn a sharp gaze at his middle son. Unabashed, Percival Augustus Weasley looked his father straight in the eye, completely aware of what was going through his father's mind. Nevertheless, the safety of his team-mates (all of whom had become something more than what most of his family was to him) was more important than the delusions that his father held close.

"You just attacked two injured men who in a highly warded room. Voldemort could not have penetrated these wards much less Lucius Malfoy! If, for once you could have put aside you're petty grudges and lust for idiotic revenge and decided to LISTEN to your common sense you might have realized this! Instead you attacked an injured man. Seeing the look on you're face, I see that this did not occur to you. It probably did not even occur to you that it might be someone who had taken Polyjuice to take on the guise of Lucius Malfoy!

"Not to mention, even if Sirius were the true Malfoy, there were four innocents in the way. You've read the book of protocol, you wait until there is as small a chance of injury to innocents before you attack. This is all that separates us from Voldemort and his minions!"

"Who are you to speak to me that way!" Arthur's voice was heavy with grief. "You're the one who has betrayed your family."

"Percy is one of our top spies, Arthur," Dumbledor broke in. "I am aware that some of you already knew, or assumed, but for those who did not realise this, he is our foremost spy in the ranks of the Ministry.

"Sirius is also one of our top agents, actually one of the top agents. Of course, his wanted status goes a long way to helping in schemes, of course. Besides they're both members of team Elite, the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix."

Astonished gazes filled the room, until one red-haired man sought to bring forth his own views.

"But Headmaster Dumbledore!" Confused hazel eyes, so close yet so far from those of his middle son's, met periwinkle blue. "You're our leader, we all know this."

It was not the headmaster, but a young emerald-eyed teen who stepped forward to answer the man's slightly desperate question.

"Mr. Weasley," The boy's light tenor filled the room, calling almost everyone's attention to himself. Flushing under the attention, Harry continued. "Who do you believe creates the plans, obtains the information, chooses the most qualified teams, and decides which actions will do the most good; are of the utmost importance?"

"Professor Dumbledore, of course."

"No Mr. Weasley." The boy's voice was calm, yet there was a note of hesitancy in his voice. "I asked you who organized; who planned; who our strategists are. Not who presented the information."

At the older man's still apparent confusion, Harry sighed and shook his head lightly.

"Surely you're not still answering Dumbledore? Albus is too busy, too old, too tired, and too well known to do this properly. He is our messenger as well as our advisor, but this is no longer his war, and he knows it.

"Besides, it would be stupid to allow one man to do a job for many."

A stunned silence filled the room before the older man turned a pleading gaze to the son who was watching over Severus Snape.

"Percy! Tell them, you're a sensible boy."

"I thought I was a traitor?" The teen questioned mildly. There was no surprise on his features when Arthur continued, unaware of the tension slowly gathering in his son's back.

"And I know you know that Dumbledore's our leader-not some, false-convict or death eater trash! Hell, they should be given to Voldemort now! I can see it now, a far better, and more trust worthy, spy turning Snape in along with Black, and then allowing Voldemort to do what he wanted with them. It would save us all a large headach-"

Arthur Weasley quailed under the blare from both obsidian and aqua eyes as he held his throbbing cheek, courtesy of the younger blonde woman in front of him. He was so absorbed in trying not to flinch at those glares, and scanning the room's occupants that he didn't see his Percy's shuddering form in the arms of his older brother-Charles Keene Weasley.

However, he did see the figure that was his eldest son holding back an enraged Sirius with the werewolf's help. Bill's focus was on the ground, his posture screaming shame, his hands flexing around the ex-convict's arms. Arthur also saw Fletcher holding Harry's shoulder and whispering urgently in the boy's ear—probably trying to talk the boy into letting go of the wand the teen held in a white knuckled grip. He also met his wife's cool gaze, until she broke it—disappointment practically radiating from her.

If anything this incensed him further, in fact, it was only the cool glare still centred on him by Hogwart's resident potions master that kept him in place. Snape's icy voice filled the air as he continued glaring at the man.

"Why would you wish that on us when you saw what it did to your son?"

"What do you mean? Bill and Charlie are perfectly fine!"

"You fool, I was talking of Percival."

"My son is perfectly fine! I should know; he is of my blood."

"You are a blind fool, Weasley. You don't know your son, hell you and most of your family even viewed him as a traitor." There was an oddly sad emotion in Snape's eyes. "And I pity you for it. You'll never know what you're missing."

Arthur was enraged by this statement, so enraged that he didn't see Percy recollect himself, and push his older brother away even as he murmured a quiet thank you, ten pairs of eyes suddenly focused on the teen as he made his way to the door. What he did see was his son walking past him, and away. Desperate, he let out one more statement.

"Percy, aren't they all lies? I'm your father, and I'd know you better than anyone else. What say we put the 'traitor' business behind us, besides, you do agree with me."

Percy froze, then turned to face his father, an unassuming look on his face. Eyes blank, he gestured at his clothing.

"Do you recognize any of this?" It was a mildly asked question.

Arthur shook his head.

"Do you even remember what happened to me when I was six?" There was something almost desparate in the teen's voice.

Once again the boy's father shook his head in denial.

"Then you've never known me."

His exit was made in deep silence.


	4. Chapter Four

**Forgotten Pasts**

_By: sl-sama_

"Nandito ako, umiibig sa'yo  
Kahit na nag durugo ang puso  
Kung sa kalih, iniwanan kan'ya  
Wag kang mag alala  
May nag ma'mahal sa'yo  
Nandito ako..."

_The boy's soft soprano floated out of his cell and filled the hallways of the cold stone castle with the bittersweet tones of the foreign song. Echoing hauntingly in the hallways, everyone who heard it couldn't help but relax and close their eyes; allowing the song to wash through them. Even the senior Deatheaters--hardened warriors who had learned to kill in cold blood if necessary--couldn't help but allow the pure tones of the ballad to wash over them, cleansing their souls with its purity._

_The peaceful air was one that everyone enjoyed and, indeed, Percival Augustus Weasley--over the month or so in which he had resided at Tom's castle--was eager to provide. The boy even seemed to have an endless amount of singing material in every language available and, if he didn't know a requested song, his captor—now friends—were eager to teach him._

_It was odd that they did, but then again Percy was Percy. True there weren't many famous or powerful figures in his lineage, but he had been gifted with a rare power, and had unconsciously developed the charisma that those with power controlled. No one he knew was immune to his charm, not his brothers, not the Deatheaters, not Tom. Even so, his control was still unconscious—he was just himself. It didn't take too long for him to be on first name basis with many of Tom's supporters, Tom, and Voldemort himself._

_A soft knock on the doorframe pulled at his attention, and he broke off his song to greet the man standing just outside of his room._

_"Lucius!" He cried with a bright smile before running up to hug the man who had, over the past two months of captivity, become more of a father to him than his own. The man allowed himself a fond smile for the bright boy before scooping Percy up in his arms. For a moment they just looked at each other then, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, the blond aristocrat held the boy tightly as he closed his eyes with remorse._

_"It is October 19 Percival, and my master calls for you."_

_The aristocrat's tone was flat and dead as Percy reached out with a cool feeling of understanding and unwavering determination. Reading the boy's unspoken demand, Lucius shook his head._

_"Tom's gone; you won't receive any mercy."_

_"I know." The boy's voice was soft and resolute._

_"I don't want to give you to him—isn't there another way?"_

_"Lucius." Percy's tone held a note of warning as the boy felt the shift around them. "Think of Draconis."_

_The blond scowled when he found himself unconsciously walking towards the exits. With a faint smile, Percy hugged the man._

_"Don't worry, we'll keep in touch- I'll owl you in a couple of weeks, when everything is relatively calm again."_

_The blond didn't question the boy's word choice, knowing full well that he would do nothing to change the fate that Percy had seen and chosen. Tom was gone, and the boy had stolen enough of his heart for Lucius to know that he would not let their sacrifices go in vain. Percy had chosen the fate in which they would all survive, and he would cling to that faint hope to see it through—even if it meant that he had to deliver the boy to Hell's Gates himself._

_"Is there anything you don't see?"_

_The six year old smiled, remembering a previous conversation as he scanned the hall knowingly._

_"Bill, Charlie, you, Tom, Harry—the threads are always shifting and the future is infinite."_

_Lucius Octavius Malfoy laughed bitterly at the reference before stepping outside onto an active portkey. Unbeknownst to the aristocrat, the child smiled over his shoulder secretively—clouded hazel meeting torn obsidian._

Percy sat against the wall quietly, hugging his knee to his chest as he looked over the perpetually busy scenery of Manhattan at twilight. Letting his left leg dangle off the 'balcony'—really the roof of his building, but details—as he gazed into the comforting bustle and idly followed the threads; watching conflicts, resolutions and everything between flash before his eyes. Sometimes he'd go deeper into a conflict, as far as twelve main paths in, investigating might-have-beens and may-to-bes with idle curiosity. Suddenly a thread next to him flashed from its ghostly frame to a more solid beam, so he wasn't too surprised when a familiar presence settled in next to him.

"You were right," The teen's voice was tired and resigned as he rubbed his eyes wearily. "Shacklebolt was more than happy to be given command of a squad."

Percy turned to look at the teen beside him and took in his appearance. Tousled and messy raven-black hair fell into clear emerald green eyes as Heron Jamison Potter continued watching the shadows warily. As he had become accustomed, Percy ignored the black threads swirling chaotically around the Heir; he could not see into the boy's past or future; an oddity, but one he accepted with relief. Harry kept his ability to read people intact. He sighed, but one did not have to be particularly astute to see the exhaustion behind every one of Harry's movements.

There were faint shadows under the teen's eyes, and the boy was leaning against the railing, sitting in the careful manner that indicated that his mental proximity to a breakdown. Even his messy hair looked tired, falling limply into jade eyes that were far too old for a boy of 16.

Ever since the Department of Mysteries, Harry had ended his charade, acting as the mature boy that many of the older years had known, rather than the impetuous front he kept for those in his age group. As always, Percy was unable to help himself when he saw the tired resignation behind the boy's façade, and he pulled the younger teen into a loose embrace. First tensing, the relaxing, Harry allowed the older man to take his weight, feeling Percy's warmth surround him as he rested his head on the redhead's shoulder.

Sensing the younger boy's need for touch, Percy subtly moved them into a more comfortable position. Soon, he was leaning against the wall as Harry lay between his legs comfortably. It wasn't a new position for them, so it didn't take too long before Percy's fingers gravitated towards the head resting on his chest to play idly with silky strands of raven-black hair.

Most of their friends/acquaintances would have been shocked if they saw them. It was a general assumption that the two men disliked touch, so it was a little known fact that they actually craved it. However, the two were cautious in whom they would place their trust; they hardly even allow family to hold them this close.

"I don't know if I can trust him anymore."

The crystalline silence that had enmeshed them had broken; it's shards falling like bloodletting rain in tribute to the harshness of the statement. Oblivious to it, one man listened as the other talked.

"God, 'Civ, if I hadn't already known that they couldn't have the prophecy, I may have caught it, and Bellatrix may have taken it. She's changed too 'Civ, she's nothing like I heard she used to be, but that's not the worst part…He finally told me about Percy, but it was as though he was trying to coerce me…and if he is, I don't know what he's trying to convince me of. It's as though he believes that I left 'his' side of the war."

"But you were never on it."

Harry started, then looked up at his friend, eyes wide with surprise. Percy laughed good-naturedly at the boy's shock, and then leaned down to brush a chaste kiss against the boy's mouth.

"I see all, remember?"

With a sly smile, he then proceeded to thoroughly distract his younger friend by trailing his fingers up the teen's ribs. Laughing helplessly, Harry twisted in the redhead's grasp until he managed to slip out of the older man's grasp and retreat into Percy's condominium once more.

Laughing, Percy followed and the light-hearted mood was what defined the rest of that warm summer evening. Both men were careful to stay away from topics that were still raw wounds, including the attack on Pivet Drive, Thom, Voldemort, Sirius Black, the Weasley family, and Hermione Granger. For that night at least, they were merely themselves, something that they both needed desperately. Finally, somewhere around two am, Harry collapsed into his bed, waving his hand depreciatingly at his friend.

"I need sleep," The boy said with a warm smile as Percy leaned against the doorframe. "But, yeah… Thanks 'Civ… You're mum said 'hi,' by the way."

With a warm smile, Percy watched his friend climb into the bed and yawn widely. Shutting off the lights and slipping out of the guestroom, he slid a pair of wire-frame glasses over his eyes and al but sighed in relief when the silver threads perpetually burning into his vision faded into indistinct shimmers. He stopped by his bar to pour himself a cup of '96 merlot before heading onto his rooftop patio to contemplate his life.

It wasn't a bad one, he and Harry were perfectly safe in New York, and the younger teen was coming along with his studies nicely, but there were still times when he missed England; his family. He still regretted how he had left them, his mother crying, his father still angry with him, and his younger brothers confused. Even now, he had an irrational need to call another meeting, if only to see his older brothers again.

_ ".. Good for nothing traitor! You disgrace the Weasl-"_

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he brought the glass to his lips once more, but no wine met his lips. Empty? When had that happened?

Shaking his head in consternation, he decided on the next best thing and walked to the outside bar, opening a cabinet and rummaging around until he found the silver case. Opening it, he withdrew one slender cylinder, then snapped his fingers—playing one of the threads of magic that he could see—to light it.

"In case you didn't know, smoking is really bad for you."

Un-startled, Percy took a long drag off his cigarette then turned to his visitor with a slight smile.

"It's been a while Tom."

Clouded hazel met slightly surprised amber-flecked grey eyes. Percy wondered at that, why was his friend so shocked? A slightly pitying smile grew on Thom's face before the man cupped his friend's face gently.

"Oh Cepitaus—you're such a fool. You've forgotten haven't you?"

A slight blush grew on Percy's face—the man had as much charm as himself and Harry, how was he supposed to react? Added to the fact that the man was older, around twenty-six, and quite attractive, Percy wasn't completely in control of his actions. Laughing at what he'd read so truly on the teen's face, Tom then grew completely serious.

"You need to snap out of it Percy, see it through to the end quickly- you have one more left, Voldemort has reached the residence."

Percy's eyes narrowed in confusion--then Tom was gone.

t.b.c.

_A/N :swings legs merrily: oh, it's been a while hasn't it? I apologize profusely for that by the way, but it could be helped. Pissed off my mother, got sick, computer crashed, got sick again, then had a few projects to do ;; Well, it's here now…_

_Oh, and I've decided- two more chapters then I'm going to move on to a quasi-sequel that's centred on Harry. And just so you all know- no, neither this fic nor its sequel will be Percy/Harry…. Because… it just doesn't fit what's going to happen_

_To those who reviewed, if you come back ;;_

_Glad you liked it, I'm almost as confused as you all are and I hope you like the coming twist :big innocent smile:_


	5. Chapter Five

**Forgotten Pasts**  
_sl-sama__  
_

_Pain; it blossomed inside of him and erupted into his mind, opening gates and throwing open doors which he knew should never have been opened. He was not even trying to survive any more—he couldn't die, that was clear, but he was not living either. With the pain strumming through his body, all he could do was exist._

_He could not even scream for the mental release; he had damaged his vocal chords so extensively by the second day that it was physically impossible for him to form the vibrations necessary to create sound. A part of him wondered how long ago that was; he had lost track a couple days after that._

_Percy's mind latched onto that thought with the coherency of a mental gasp, and for one precioius moment it lent him clarity—he could remember. Images flashed through his mind of being captured, Seeing Tom, the Potters, Pettigrew, his message, the date._

_It was October Thir—_

_He opened his mouth to scream, noiselessly, as a rag saturated in salt water was laid over his body. Rationality disappeared as he twisted helplessly in his bonds, the unforgiving sodium forcing his already taxed sensory nerves to continuously fire action potentials; the pathways telling his brain of the never ending, never dulling pain._

_He was only vaguely aware of the door—at least he thought it was a door, and it was his mind so it would make sense—began to swing open. He was curious as to what was behind it, and he raised a hand to touch it—_

_"Cipetaus!" A boy was suddenly in front of it desperately holding it closed. He observed the boy's struggles with a blank curiosity, the sixteen year old's eyes were quite curious as well. Even more so than the boy's efforts that reminded him of trying to bail water out of a boat with a sieve._

_"Don't you dare go under," The teen was pleading, amber flecks glowing from within his grey eyes. "You've sacrificed too much already, and if you don't tell him now, it will all come to naught."_

_Recognition dawned in him, and the six year old stretched a spectral hand toward his friend, a hesitance in his question. "Tom?"_

_"Yeah kid," The teen grinned, despite his precarious position, the door sliding another inch further. "It's me."_

_Then everything came rushing back, and Percy threw himself away from the door even as it threw itself open, swallowing both boy's into the Seer's innate power._

_And suddenly he was everything—every **one**—and he was loosing his identy as he lived thousands of lives in an instant, and the possibilities of infinity._

_He smiled at his new friend and introduced himself._

_"Nice to meet you, I'm Eriol Hiiragizawa—Christopher Evans—Heron Potter(-Snape;-Malfoy;-Evans;-Black;-Lupin;-Weasley)—Sirius Matthias Black—Orion Patriclus Black—Hermione Anne Alfey-Granger—Tendo Kasumi—Saotome Ranko—Nokoru—Tom Marvelo Riddle—Albus Dumble_

_And dimly he heard a high cackle as he mouthed two words that he would always regret._

_"Trust Pettigrew."_

These were dark times, and everyone (the paranormal and the normal alike) was aware of the fact. Exhausted, one Percival Augustus Weasley trudged into his apartment. Letting the door shut with a resounding slam behind him, he stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. His keys, watch, wallet, belt, and tie followed it in mere seconds. Loosening his collar he slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and mechanically searched his cupboards for a bottle of scotch.

Pouring himself a generous amount, he downed the contents of his glass in one gulp, sighing as the familiar taste of alcohol burned his taste buds. Pouring himself another drink, he turned away from the bar then paused. With barely a coherent thought, he tossed back the second glass and merely grabbed the bottle before stalking to his balconey.

Leaning wearily on the railing, he looked out on the view with a tired smile. The peaceful serenity of downtown Los Angeles calmed his nerves, though he knew that (like everything else) it was merely a façade: a misinterpretation of the situation. No place in the world was untouched, not even the remote West Coast of the United States.

It is 1995 and open war has spread across most of the known world.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle as light shocks ran sporadically down his spine. This was the only warning he was given before a soft "click" alerted him to an intruder's presence. Reacting instinctively, his wrist snapped back and a small, dangerously sharp knife slammed hilt-deep into his door, millimetres from his guest's cheek.

"I'm not dead." He noted matter-of-factly, a faint tinge of surprise in his tone.

Percy growled and stalked to the younger man. Flipping the hall lights on, he tilted the boy's face up to examine the pale cheek for a scratch. Finding none, Percy released the child and dislodged his knife, examining it before slipping it back into it's wrist holster

"You could have been."

Sensing the redhead's distress, the boy reached over to remove his friend's glasses. Examining the lenses, then trailing his eyes down it's legs, a look of intense concentration slipped onto the teen's face. Fascinated, Percy watched as a silver light followed behind the boy's fingers. Out of long practice, Percy was able to ignore the shadows of the threads around his companion.

He'd learned long ago that it could be dangerous and misleading to read into the threads, so he'd stopped. Unfortunately, that did not mean that the threads would stop surrounding him, hence the glasses. With a frown, the younger boy looked up.

"Valaus, the glasses won't hold for much longer. You must learn control."

The boy's silver eyes bore into his, the intense gaze softened by the gentle grip on his hand. Percy looked down at their connected hands, marvelling at the beauty of his golden threads of past, present, and future mingling with the black, unreadable threads of his friend.

"I know Chris, you've told me. Tom's told me." There was a distinctly wry tone in Percy's voice as he finished his statement. "Hell, even Heron's told me."

"Where's the unspoken 'But' in that?"

"I can't. The last time I looked," Percy's voice was tortured. "It almost broke me."

The eighteen year old looked at his friend and shook his head slightly. Silver-streaked charcoal black hair settled into its usual immaculate position. "Valaus, we've let you run for long enough. It's past time for you to face it."

Percy gasped when he was pulled into a warm embrace, his hazle eyes never leaving those of his friend's.

"Shh," Tom's voice went a long way to calming him. "Relax Cepitaus, just trust us."

"Us?"

A warm squeeze of his right hand alerted him to another's presence, even if he never broke eye contact with Chris. There was something wry and apologetic in Chris' tone as he smiled sadly at him.

"We've let you wander the paths long enough; it's time to go back."

Chris reached forward and removed his glasses. Percy fought the instinct to close his eyes as the thousands of silver pathways winked into his vision. Then something caught his attention; the threads were not all silver as he'd originally thought. The threads of what he knew instinctively to be of pure moonlight he knew belonged to Tom, the threads of shadow to Chris, the threads of gold to himself, and the threads of midnight's black—

He recoiled sharply, instinctively when he recognized the last threads. Eyes wide with panic, Percy looked to his right, seeing the Lord of Shadows and feeling his panic rising within him. It was only Chris' presence and Tom's embrace that kept him from bolting at the sight of the youngest Dark Lord.

"Oh, 'Civ." Percival was confused by the genuine emotion in Heron Potter's emerald eyes; never was the Shadow Lord so open with his feelings. "You have gotten lost, haven't you?"

"Don't worry." The boy's tenor was soft and soothing, though the slight roughness indicated that he had yet to reach the true depth of his voice box. "This is the last, 'Civ. You've seen everything that we'd want to prevent.

"I just wish you wouldn't see any more."

Heron Potter cupped Percy's cheek and smiled at him.

"It's time to wake up."

..to be concluded..

_A/N So, it took me over a year to find out where the story was going. I'd give more of an excuse than that... But, haha, I can't. ;;_

_Any-hoo, I hope you all enjoyed All that's left is the epilogue, and then the sequel-- which will not, I'm sad to say, be centred on Percy. He will be a major character, no doubt, and it will probably bleed a little into the other fic I've been working on this year a little something called Journal-- it's hiding somewhere in the Cardcaptor Sakura section, or on my lj.. but aside from that. I like where the sequel is going.  
_


	6. Chapter Six

_Final chapter, probably should have had it out when I really finished it, but... I'm lazy. Not to mention, it confused me, too. Then again, I have the "sequel" half done chapters, 10, so... P_

* * *

_31 October 1981_

Lucius shifted the child he held in his arms as he approached the warehouse. It had taken him quite a while to reach it, what with the numerous and intricate wards he'd had to avoid. True, the aristocrat had been given specific instructions to navigate through them, but it had still been a tedious chore to get as close as he had. Stopping at the door, he placed his palm to a space above the doorbell and whispered a name.

Moments later, the door was opened by one Severus Snape.

"Lucius, why are you here?"

"I have the little one, Severus." Lucius gently shifted his burden. "Now that he's done his work, it's past time he gets home."

Severus' visage softened as he recognized the child in his colleague's arms. Accepting the child, he carried the Percy as though the child were made of glass, an action which was as much a precaution to avoid antagonizing the injuries as it was an act of reluctant care. It was as Lucius was turning away that the potion's master caught the sly smile.

"You know something I don't."

"Of course I do," Lucius' voice was rich with amusement. "for the boy has chosen a path none would have expected. Potter will meet Riddle, but there will be a game in play far beyond the reach of either Dumbledor or Voldemort's petty imaginations when their confrontation comes to play."

Severus closed the door with his colleague's final warning ringing in his ears.

"Beware your loyalties, Severus; we would hate to see you killed."

_-Ende-_


End file.
